


On rings and roots

by bree_black



Category: White Collar
Genre: Coda, Episode: s04e03, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bree_black/pseuds/bree_black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A midnight conversation between an FBI agent and a con man regarding diamond rings, the comparative value of treasures, having one’s cake and eating it too, and the importance of good timing. 4x03 "Diminishing Returns" coda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On rings and roots

Neal opens the door with caution - he always does, it’s an old habit - but breaks into a smile when he sees Peter standing in the threshold to his room.

“Agent Burke,” he says with exaggerated surprise, “to what do I owe the honor? Don’t you work an early shift in the Cave tomorrow, despite my best efforts to get you out of there?”

Peter chuckles, already stepping past Neal and into the room. He never waits for an invitation. Neal’s grin falters. He knows now this isn’t just a friendly visit, can see the tension in Peter’s shoulders and hear too much sobriety in his voice.

“So you’d recognize the interiors of Davis, Smith Brothers _and_ Soltaire and Sons,” he says. It’s a statement and a question, all rolled into one.

Neal catches his breath like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. “I wasn’t going to rob them,” he says, his tone far more accusatory than Peter’s.

“I didn’t say you were,” Peter counters, keeping his voice even. He sits down at Neal’s kitchen table. “But I looked into it all the same. Force of habit, I guess. Did you know all three stores are within your radius?”

Neal doesn’t sit. Instead, he looks like he wants to kick Peter out of his home. But he can’t, because this room doesn’t really belong to him and if it weren’t for Peter all he’d have would be a prison cell.

“And have they reported any stolen jewels?” Neal asks, his voice unusually tense.

“No,” Peter says. “But Smith Brothers made major renovations on its interior earlier this year. Looks really posh in there.”

“Good for them,” Neal says, lightly, his tone too casual to read as completely genuine, at least to Peter’s trained ear. “What does that have to do with me?”

“You’ve visited two commercial diamond stores in the past year,” Peter says. “Don’t deny it - I checked your anklet. But not to case the joint. Not while you were sitting on a submarine of treasure that makes the inventory of those stores look like rusted pennies by comparison.”

Neal bites his lip, preparing a lie. Peter notices.

“I visited two of those stores after work today. The salesgirls remembered you well, of course. They said you were polite, charming, and knew a lot about jewelry. One of them seemed a bit jealous of the lucky girl you said you were buying a ring for.”

“Peter,” Neal says. He moves closer, hand hovering over the other man’s shoulder like he might hit him, or curl his fingers into the fabric of Peter’s starched white shirt and never let go. He snatches his hand back just before it makes contact.

“They both said you were looking for a very special piece,” Peter continues, unfazed by Neal’s proximity. “That you wanted something with character, something unique, something vintage. You found it at the second shop and paid for it with cash.”

Without saying a word, Neal walks briskly across the room, pulls back a small portrait hanging on the wall, and opens the small combination safe behind it. His fingers slip uncharacteristically, and he has to enter the combination twice because he spins the dial too far the first time. When he returns, he slams a small black box down on the table, and scrapes back another chair, sitting across from Peter. Perhaps because the ceilings are high, or maybe because it’s the middle of the night in New York City, every sound he makes seems amplified.

“Here,” Neal says, expression cold, “is this what you’re looking for?”

Peter opens the box, his hand much steadier than Neal’s. Inside is a ring, blue diamond set into a twisty gold band. It’s a nice piece - it does have character, but it isn’t too flashy. It’s certainly less extravagant than Neal’s usual taste.

“Pretty,” Peter says. He looks up and raises an eyebrow, inviting Neal to jump into the conversation.

“I thought so,” Neal agrees, not taking the bait. His voice is calmer now and his hands are still, but Peter recognizes an act when he sees it.

“I can think of someone else who would like it,” Peter says. “Someone who likes one-of-a-kind pieces and has a weakness for vintage.”

“I bought it for Sara,” Neal says, getting there before Peter can. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, and I don’t know why you’re being such an ass about it.”

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” Peter says. “I had no idea things were that serious between you. This is yet another item on the list of things you’ve been keeping from me.” Cracks appear in his veneer of calm, the first since he’d knocked on Neal’s door.

Neal gapes, left momentarily speechless, a rare experience for him. “You’re making this about you?!” he finally says, astounded. “You find out I was planning to propose to the woman who broke up with me and you’re pissed because I didn’t _keep you posted_?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Peter says, stumbling over his words, caught off guard by the force of Neal’s anger.

“That’s exactly what you meant,” Neal interrupts. His tone is cool and businesslike, now. “You’ll be surprised to know that just because you can track my every move, can order me around, could send me back to jail, you are _not_ entitled to every detail of my romantic failures.”

Neal’s fists are curled into tight fists on the table, knuckles white. They’re not just talking about Sara, not anymore. This is about Kate, about that girl Neal had left on the island, and about that other thing, too, the one that neither of them will mention aloud.

“I meant I could have helped you!” Peter snaps, lowering his voice only when he remembers there are other people - sleeping people - who share this house with Neal. “You must have been hurt after the breakup, but you never let on. I would have been there for you.”

“Would you have?” Neal asks, his voice raw. “I seem to remember there being a giant pile of treasure getting between us. The same pile of treasure that came between Sara and me.”

“Which begs the question,” Peter says, “why the engagement ring?” It’s a transparent attempt to change the subject, but Neal lets him get away with it.

Neal picks up the ring box, turns it over in his hands. “I used to sit here,” he says. “right at this table, the ring on my lap and my computer on the table. I’d look back and forth between footage of a mountain of treasure and this single ring, and I’d try to decide which was worth more.”

“And you picked the treasure?” Peter guesses.

Neal shakes his head. “I tried to cheat,” he explains. “Tried to have my cake and eat it too. I convinced myself she would run with me, that I didn’t have to choose one or the other. It was selfish and childish and Sara saw right through me.”

Peter makes a small, sympathetic sound, resisting the urge to lay his hand over Neal’s, the one not holding the ring. “I’m sorry,” he says. It’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay,” Neal says, forcing a smile. “It’s not like we were soulmates or something. I knew that I loved her and I was pretty sure she loved me too, but deep down I always knew it probably wouldn’t work out. Sara knows what she needs and what she wants. She has her life together, she has a plan, and I just wasn’t the person she deserves.” He tosses the ring box back down on the table. “Obviously.”

“If you knew all that,” Peter says, picking up the box himself, “why the jewelry stores?”

Neal bites his lip, looks like he misses having the box to fidget with. “I thought maybe if I faked it convincingly enough it would become real,” he says. “I was torn between running or staying, between the man I am and the one I wish I was, and I thought maybe that ring on her finger and the one around my ankle could work together to keep me grounded.” He looks down at his hands, avoiding eye contact. “I know that’s stupid.”

Peter is thoughtful. “I don’t think it’s stupid,” he says after a pause, “but I do think it’s wrong.”

Neal laughs a little, and it almost sounds genuine. “Where’d I screw it up?”

Peter leans back in his chair. “You’ve got your timing wrong,” he says with certainty. “You expect that once you fall in love you’ll know who you are and where you belong, but it’s the other way around. You have to figure out all that first, and _then_ you can fall in love. Kate, Sara, Maya - you can’t expect them to be your roots; you’ve gotta do that work yourself. How can someone really love you if they’re not even sure - if _you’re_ not even sure - who you really are?”

“You’re strangely eloquent for an FBI agent,” Neal says. The words are teasing, but his tone isn’t.

“It’s a gift,” Peter deadpans. He sets the ring back on the table between them.

“So what am I supposed to do with this, oh wise one?” Neal asks, gesturing at the box. “Sell it, forget it ever happened, make a fresh start?”

“Naw,” Peter answers. “Not unless you really need the money. You don’t need any more fresh starts, Neal, and you don’t need to reinvent yourself again. Your past is a part of you - for better or for worse - and the sooner you come to terms with that the better. Maybe the ring will be a good reminder.”

“You want me to put down roots,” Neal says with a smirk.

“You’re not going to be able to be happy until you do,” Peter says. “And you can’t have it both ways.” He pushes his chair back, stands, moves toward the door.

Neal follows him to the doorway, leaving the ring behind. “Just so I’m clear,” he says, voice thrumming with new energy, “you’re saying that once I figure out who I really am I’ll fall desperately in love and live happily ever after?”

Peter laughs. “Sure, Neal.”

“Is that a promise?” Neal presses, and there’s a proposal in the question, one that catches them both off guard and leaves them dizzy with possibility.

A hesitation. “Once you know who you are and what you really want,” Peter finally promises. “But not a moment sooner.”

 

 

It’s nearly three years later the next time Peter sees that ring box, this time sitting in the center of _his_ kitchen table instead of Neal’s.

Neal had slept on their couch the night before - for the second time in less than a week - dozing off during the made-for-TV movie Elizabeth chose with his head in her lap and his long legs stretched across Peter’s.

Peter watches his wife watch Neal sleep. She’s always been fond of him and hasn’t been shy about that, but there’s something different in her expression now, as she runs her fingers through his hair. Protectiveness, love, longing. It’s a familiar combination, not only because he’s been catching it on Elizabeth’s face more often lately, but also because he’s felt it himself.

Elizabeth catches him staring, and this time she doesn’t blush, or turn away, or crack a joke to cut the tension in what they’re both thinking. “Can we keep him?” she asks,

It’s a decision a long time in the making, one he’s been considering at least since he made Neal that midnight promise, but if he’s being honest probably since he’d caught Neal the first time. But even after all this time, Peter doesn’t have an answer. He stays silent and Elizabeth lets the subject drop. She shifts Neal out of her lap - carefully, tenderly - and pulls the quilt off the back of the couch and lays it over him. Then they go up to sleep, but their bed feels too big somehow.

In the morning Neal is gone, probably to meet with the bank manager they’d called yesterday. He likes to take meetings without Peter, especially at locations outside his old radius, just because he can. But he’s left the ring box behind.

Inside the box Peter finds a pair of earrings made with a familiar blue stone, re-cut and placed in modern settings, and an elaborate, twisty gold tie clip. A piece of Neal’s past he hasn’t erased, but instead made new just for them. “How’s my timing?” Neal has written on the inside lid of the box.

Peter thinks about that on his way to the office. He thinks about how Neal’s been crime and anklet-free for over a year, and how’d he’d spent his first real FBI paycheck on a new suit, not as nice as Byron’s, but all his own. He thinks about how when Diana and Christie have him and El over for dinner Christie asks if Neal can come too, because he brings the best wine and always makes her laugh. He thinks about the photo of himself and Neal El keeps on the mantle, next to one of Neal’s sketches of he and El, given as a gift for their wedding anniversary. He thinks Neal seems happy, healthy and grounded, like he’s really managed to put down roots. Some of his mystery has evaporated; for the first time, Peter realizes he knows exactly who Neal Caffrey is.

Peter puts on the tie clip before he walks into the office. He arrives at his desk just moments before Neal does the same, carrying two mugs of coffee.

“Nice timing,” Peter says, taking both mugs and setting them on his desk.

“Yeah?” Neal says. His eyes brighten with a kind of cautious hope. He steps into Peter’s personal space to fix the crooked tie clip. The whole office can see them right now, but Peter doesn’t care.

“Yeah,” he confirms, cupping Neal’s chin with one hand and tilting his face up into their long-awaited first kiss. Bring on happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Rushed to get this one out before tonight's episode josses me. Thanks to lookturtles for the speedy beta.


End file.
